The Swim

The Swim

Once in the water the four of us Emory, Tim, Josh & I line up about five foot abreast of each other, this will make it easier during the 5 mile swim back to shore to keep communication with each other and the boat, to allow us to watch for signs of trouble from ocean predators, and to watch each other in case of exhaustion.

After we orient ourselves, hit the timers on our watches, we start swimming. Since the weather is nice and visibility clear, Tony our boat pilot takes up behind us about 25 yards, following with his binoculars scanning the ocean surface for disturbances other than us. We are thankful for his presence.

Swimming in such deep ocean, one becomes aware of the awesomeness of the sea, in the hundreds of feet of water beneath you, there are literally millions of animals living there, and this creates a rush of adrenaline and pointless random thoughts on the subject of being eaten. The feeling of helplessness when you realize, you are somewhere you don’t really belong, when you look around and see water, but no land within reach should something happen.

We continue our swim 300 feet above the sandy bottom of this ocean, knowing with certainty that the nearest dangerous natives of this environment are never farther than the borders of our own imagination. Enough fear can have you seeing sharks in every swell, almost enough to make us five regret getting on the boat today. I shudder as I feel a cold chill down my spine.

After two miles of steady churning at the ocean with our arms and legs, we stop for a drink to prevent dehydration; unwillingly sipping on salt water as we go, leaves us thirsty. Gatorade satiates quite nicely. We regroup and return our bodies to the mechanical action of strokes and kicks that will carry us on. As we continue over the surface of this glistening pool that covers approximately three quarters of the Earth, we feel small, trying to prove beyond a doubt that we control our fear, not that our fear controls us Emory brings up what we will do later, the discussion eases our minds.

Four miles on, we swim bobbing over every swell. The swells suddenly stop; a sense of dread comes over us and fear. I feel lighter all of a sudden, I feel the rising of my body as it moves along, I look to my companions, and they seem to be rising too, the water around us swells like a large blister. I see a looming darkness beneath I figure out why.

I yell to the others to swim to me quickly, I look back Tony has already stopped the boat, and moved to the bow with his shotgun. Although with a swell this big he won’t need it. They swim as fast as they can. I am sure the others can feel the cold thermal plane rising as well. It’s as though a chunk of the ocean is being pushed up from underneath us.

We all swim towards the outside edge of the water blister Josh & Emory get there first, just in time to hear a most ominous sound. It sounds eerie, ancient, and yet tranquil, and is as beautiful as it is terrifying, a deep moaning cry. It has been called the music of the sea. We are both lucky and scared to have heard it, and then the blister pops, two large bodies break the surface. Looking like large stones being thrust out of the water; they fall like cut trees, their massive bodies’ splash then settle calmly. Reminiscent of twin fire hoses they blast a stream of air and water from their backs, I spin in the water to look for my friends, fearing that Tim may have been hit by a fluke.

Everyone is startled by the appearance of the two gray whales which have graced us with their presence. They are a wonder to behold, their 40-50 foot long bodies turning in the water, the sun reflecting off their partially barnacled skin, they are beautiful.

Everyone makes their way back to the boat, we decide our swim is over, we watch the whales for the next half hour until they dive and disappear. Mother Nature has played her hand well. There is always next time.

We all go home with a better understanding of our significance in this world, feeling closer to each other for the experience. There is a long quiet on the way back, as we reflect; it has been a good day, tomorrow rock climbing.